Before morning the weather had moderated very much, a thaw had set in,
and the snow was going rapidly.
"Well, what sports shall we contrive for to-day?" asked Herbert, at the
breakfast table. "Certainly both skating and snow fights are entirely
out of the question."
"Entirely!" echoed Harold; "all other outdoor sports also; for a
drizzling rain is beginning to fall, and the melting snow has covered
roads and paths with several inches of water."
"We have some games for the house which you have not tried yet," said
their mother; "'Table croquet,' 'Parlor Quoits,' 'Parlor Ring Toss,'
Jack-straws and others."
"And I have a new game that papa gave me this Christmas--'The Flags of
all Nations,'" remarked Lulu. "I brought it with me."
"We will be glad to see it," said Harold.
"It is probably improving as well as entertaining," remarked Zoe. "I
should judge so from the name."
"I think you will find it both," said the captain.
"So you would 'Corn and Beans,' too, Aunt Zoe," said Max. "Papa gave it
to me, and we tried it Christmas eve at home, and found it very funny."
The morning and most of the afternoon were occupied with these games,
which seemed to afford much enjoyment to the children and young people.
It was the winding up of their Christmas festivities at Ion, and all
were in the mood for making it as gay and mirthful as possible.
Some--the Raymonds among others--would leave shortly after tea, the rest
by or before bedtime.
They finished the sports of the afternoon with two charades. The older
people were the spectators, the younger ones the actors.
Mendicant was the word chosen for the first.
A number of the boys and girls came trooping into the parlor, each
carrying an old garment, thimble on finger, and needle and thread in
hand. Seating themselves they fell to work.
Zoe was patching an old coat, Lulu an apron, Gracie a doll's dress; Eva
and Rosie each had a worn stocking drawn over her hand, and was busily
engaged in darning it; the other girls were mending gloves, the boys old
shoes; and as they worked they talked among themselves.
"Zoe," said Maud, "I should mend that coat differently."
"How would you mend it?" asked Zoe.
"With a patch much larger than that you are sewing on it."
"I shouldn't mend it that way," remarked Sydney. "I'd darn it."
"Thank you both for your very kind and disinterested advice," sniffed
Zoe. "But I learned how to mend before I ever saw you. And I should mend
those gloves in a better way than you are taking."
"If you know so well how to mend, Madam Zoe, will you please give me
some instruction about mending this shoe?" said Herbert. "Cobbling is
not in my line."
"Neither is it in mine, Sir Herbert," she returned, drawing herself up
with a lofty air.
"Such silly pride! They should mend their ways if not their garments,"
remarked Maud, in a scornful aside.
"One should think it beneath her to mend even a worn stocking," said
Rosie.
"No," responded Eva, "and she should mend it well."
"Your first syllable is not hard to guess, children," said Mrs.
Dinsmore; "evidently it is mend."
With that the actors withdrew, and presently Chester Dinsmore returned
alone, marching in and around the room with head erect and pompous air.
His clothes were of fine material and fashionable cut, he wore handsome
jewelry, sported a gold headed cane, and strutted to and fro, gazing
about him with an air of lofty disdain as of one who felt himself
superior to all upon whom his glances fell.
Harold presently followed him into the room. He was dressed as a country
swain, came in with modest, diffident air, and for a while stood
watching Chester curiously from the opposite side of the apartment, then
crossing over, he stood before him, hat in hand, and bowing low.
"Sir," he said respectfully, "will you be so kind as to tell me if you
are anybody in particular? I'm from the country, and shouldn't like to
meet any great man and not know it."
"I, sir?" cried Chester, drawing himself up to his full height, and
swelling with importance. "I? I am the greatest man in America; the
greatest man of the age; I am Mr. Smith, sir, the inventor of the most
delicious ices and confectionery ever eaten."
"Thank you, sir," returned Harold, with another low bow. "I shall always
be proud and happy to have met so great a man."
Laughter, clapping of hands, and cries of "I! I!" among the spectators,
as the two withdrew by way of the hall.
Soon the young actors flocked in again. A book lay on a table, quite
near the edge. With a sudden jerk Herbert threw it on the floor.
Rosie picked it up and replaced it, saying: "Can't you let things
alone?"
"Rosie, why can't you let the poor boy alone?" whined her cousin, Lora
Howard. "No one has ever known me to be guilty of such an exhibition of
temper; it's positively wicked."
"Oh, you're very good, Lora," sniffed Zoe. "I can't pretend to be half so
perfect."
"Certainly I can't," said Eva.
"I can't."
"I can't," echoed Lulu, Max, and several others.
"Come now, children, can't you be quiet a bit?" asked Harold. "I can't
auction off these goods unless you are attending and ready with your
bids."
Setting down a basket he had brought in with him, he took an article
from it and held it high in air.
"We have here an elegant lace veil worth perhaps a hundred dollars; it
is to be sold now to the highest bidder. Somebody give us a bid for this
beautiful piece of costly lace, likely to go for a tithe of its real
value."
"One dollar," said Rosie.
"One dollar, indeed! We could never afford to let it go at so low a
figure; we can't sell this elegant and desirable article of ladies'
attire so ridiculously low."
"Ten dollars," said Maud.
"Ten dollars, ten dollars! This elegant and costly piece of lace going
at ten dollars!" cried the auctioneer, holding it higher still and
waving it to and fro. "Who bids higher? It is worth ten times that
paltry sum; would be dirt cheap at twenty. Somebody bid twenty; don't
let such a chance escape you; you can't expect to have another such. Who
bids? Who bids?"
"Fifteen," bid Zoe.
"Fifteen, fifteen! this lace veil, worth every cent of a hundred
dollars, going at fifteen? Who bids higher? Now's your chance; you can't
have it much longer. Going, going at fifteen dollars--this elegant veil,
worth a cool hundred. Who bids higher? Going, going at fifteen dollars,
not a quarter of its value. Will nobody bid higher? Going, going, gone!"
"Can't," exclaimed several of the audience, as the veil was handed to
Zoe, and the whole company of players retired.
They shortly returned, all dressed in shabby clothing, some with wallets
on their backs, some with old baskets on their arms, an unmistakable
troop of beggars, passing round among the spectators with whining
petitions for cold victuals and pennies.
A low growl instantly followed by a loud, fierce bark, startled players
and spectators alike, and called forth a slight scream from some of the
little ones.
"That auld dog o' mine always barks at sic a troop o' mendicants,"
remarked Cousin Ronald quietly. "I ken mendicant's the word, lads and
lasses, and ye hae acted it out wi' commendable ingenuity and success."
"You couldn't have made a better guess if you had belonged to the
universal Yankee nation, cousin," laughed Herbert.
They retired again and in a few minutes Eva and Lulu came in dressed in
travelling attire, each with a satchel in her hand.
"This must be the place, I think," said Eva, glancing from side to side,
"but there seems to be no one in."
"They may be in directly," said Lulu, "let us sit down and rest in these
comfortable looking chairs, while we wait."
They seated themselves, and as they did so, Zoe and Maud walked in.
They too were dressed as travelers, and carried satchels. The four shook
hands, Zoe remarking, "So you got in here before us! How did you come?"
"In the stage," answered Lulu.
"Ah! one travels so slowly in that! We came in the cars," said Maud.
"Yes," said Zoe; "in the train that just passed."
"Let us go back in the cars, Lu," said Eva.
"Yes; in the same train they take. Oh! who is this coming? He acts like
a crazy man!" as Frank Dinsmore entered, gesticulating wildly, rolling
his eyes and acting altogether very much like a madman.
Chester was following close at his heels.
"Don't be alarmed, ladies," he said, "he shall not harm you. I'll take
care of that; I have my eye on him all the time; never let him out of my
sight. I am his keeper."
"But he's dangerous, isn't he?" they asked, shrinking from Frank's
approach, as if in great fear.
"Not while I am close at hand," said Chester. "I'll see that he disturbs
no one."
"I think it would be well for us to go now, girls," said Zoe. "Let us
ask the driver of that stage to take us in; then we'll be safe from this
lunatic."
They hurried out and in another minute Chester and Frank followed.
Then Edward came in, walked up to the fire and stood leaning against the
mantelpiece in seemingly thoughtful mood; but as the lady travelers
again appeared at the door, he started and went forward to receive them.
"Walk in, ladies," he said; "walk into the parlor. Pray be seated,"
handing them chairs. "Now what can I do for you?"
"You are the innkeeper?" asked Zoe.
"At your service, madam. Do you wish a room? or rooms?"
"Yes; we will have two; and let them be adjoining, if possible."
"Certainly, madam; we can accommodate you in that and will be happy to
do so."
Then turning to the spectators, "Can you tell us our word, ladies and
gentlemen?" he asked.
"Innkeeper," was the prompt response from several voices.
"Quite correct," he said. Then with a sweeping bow, "This closes our
entertainment for the evening, and with many thanks for their kind
attention we bid our audience a grateful adieu."
Half an hour later tea was served, and upon the conclusion of the meal
the guests began to take their departure.
The family separated for the night earlier than usual, but Harold and
Herbert followed their mother to her dressing-room, asking if she felt
too weary for a little chat with them.
"Not at all," she said with her own sweet smile. "I know of nothing that
would afford me greater satisfaction than one of the oldtime motherly
talks with my dear college boys; so come in, my dears, and let us have
it."
Harold drew forward an easy chair for her, but she declined it. "No, I
will sit on the sofa, so that I can have you close to me, one on each
side," she said.
"That will suit your boys, exactly, mamma, if you will be quite as
comfortable," said Herbert, placing a hassock for her feet, as she
seated herself.
"Quite," she returned, giving a hand to each as they placed themselves
beside her. "Now remember that your mother will be glad of your
confidence in everything that concerns you, great or small; nothing that
interests you or affects your happiness in the very least, can fail to
have an interest for her."
"We know it, dearest mamma," said Harold, "and are most happy in the
assurance that such is the fact."
"Yes," assented Herbert, lifting her hand to his lips, "and it is that
which makes a private chat with our mother so great a delight; that and
our mutual love. Mamma, dear, I can not believe I shall ever meet
another woman who will seem to me at all comparable to my dearly loved
and honored mother."
"Such words from the lips of my son are very sweet to my ear," she
responded, a tender light shining in her eyes, "and yet for your own
sake I hope you are mistaken; I would have all my children know the
happiness to be found in married life where mutual admiration, esteem
and love are so great that the two are as one."
"Such a marriage as yours, mamma?"
"Yes; there could not be a happier. But I am looking far ahead for my
college boys," she added with a smile; "at least I trust so; for you are
over young yet to be looking for life partners."
"I don't think either of us has begun on that thus far, mamma," said
Harold. "At present we are more solicitous to decide the important
question, what shall our principal life work be? and in that we desire
the help of our mother's counsel, and to follow her wishes."
"It is a question of very great importance," she said, "for your success
and usefulness in life will depend very largely upon your finding the
work your heavenly Father intends you to do, and for which you are best
fitted by the talents He has given you.
"But I thought you had both decided upon the medical profession; and I
was well content with your choice, for it is a most noble and useful
calling."
"So we thought mamma, but recently our hearts have been so moved at
thought of the millions perishing for lack of a saving knowledge of
Christ, that it has become a momentous question with each of us whether
he is called to preach the gospel, especially in the mission-field, at
home or abroad."
Her eyes shone through glad tears. "My dear boy," she said with emotion,
"to have sons in the ministry I should esteem the greatest honor that
could be put upon me; for there can be no higher calling than that of an
ambassador for Christ, no grander work than that of winning souls."
"So we both think," said Herbert, "and, mamma, you are willing we should
go and labor wherever we may be called in the providence of God?"
"Yes, oh yes! you are more His than mine; I dedicated you to his service
even before you were born, and many times afterward. I would not dare
stand in your way, nor would I wish to; for dearly as I love you both,
sweet as your presence is to me, I am more than willing to deny myself
the joy of having you near me for the sake of the Master's cause, and
that you may win the reward of those to whom He will say at the last,
'Well done, good and faithful servant; enter thou into the joy of the
Lord.' Are you particularly drawn to the foreign field?"
"No, mamma," answered Harold, "the cause is one--'the field is the
world'--but while we are deeply interested in foreign missions and
desirous to do all we can to help there, we feel that their prosperity
depends upon the success of the work at home, and that the cause of home
missions is the cause of our country also; for that cause we would labor
and give as both patriots and Christians.
"Look at the dangers threatening our dear native land--and the cause of
Christ also--from vice and illiteracy, Popery and Mormonism, all ever on
the increase from the rapid influx of undesirable immigrants--paupers,
insane, anarchists, criminals. Ah how surely and speedily they will
sweep away our liberties, both civil and religious, unless we rouse
ourselves and put forth every energy to prevent it! Never a truer saying
than that 'eternal vigilance is the price of liberty!' and nothing can
secure it to us but the instruction and evangelization of these
dangerous classes. Is it not so, mamma?"
"Yes," she assented; "I am satisfied that the gospel of Christ is the
only remedy for those threatening evils, the only safeguard of our
liberties, as well as the only salvation for a lost and ruined world.
"And, my dear boys, if you devote yourselves to that work it shall be
your mother's part, your mother's joy, to provide the means for your
support. I can not go into the work myself, so the sending of my sons
and supporting them while they labor, must be my contribution to the
cause.
"But I see no reason why you should give up the idea of studying
medicine, since so many medical missionaries are needed. My plan would
be to prepare you for both preaching and practising, if you have talent
for both."
"We have thought of that," said Harold, "and as you approve, dearest
mamma, we will hope to carry it out."
"I am so glad, mamma, that you have large means and the heart to use
them in the work of spreading abroad the glad tidings of salvation
through Christ," Herbert remarked.
"Yes," she said "it is both a responsibility and a privilege to be
entrusted with so much of my Lord's money; pray for your mother, my dear
boys, that she may have grace and wisdom to dispense it aright."
"We will, mamma, we do; and oh how often we rejoice in having a mother
to whom we can confidently apply in behalf of a good object! You have
many times given us the joy of relieving misery and providing
instruction for the ignorant and depraved."
"It has been a joy to me to be able to do so," she said thoughtfully,
"yet I fear I have not denied myself as I ought for the sake of giving
largely."
"Mamma, you have always given largely since I have been old enough to
understand anything about such matters," interrupted Harold warmly;
"yes, very largely."
"If every one had given, and would give as largely in proportion to
means," remarked Herbert, "the Lord's treasury would be full to
overflowing. Is it not so, Harold?"
"Surely; and mamma has never been one to spend unnecessarily on
herself," replied Harold, fondly caressing the hand he held.
"It has been my endeavor to be a faithful steward," she sighed, "and yet
I might have given more than I have. I have been giving only of my
income; I could give some of the principal; and I have a good many
valuable jewels that might be turned into money for the Lord's treasury.
"I have thought a good deal about that of late and have talked with my
daughters in regard to the matter; I thought it but right to consult
with them, because the jewels would be a part of their inheritance, and
I wish you two to have some say about it also, as fellow heirs with
them."
She paused and both lads answered quickly that they thought the jewels
should all go to their sisters.
"No; you and your future wives should have a share also," she replied
smilingly; "that is if I retained them all. And that being understood,
are you willing to have most of them disposed of and the proceeds used
in aid of home and foreign missions?"
Both gave a hearty assent.
"Thank you, my dears," she said. "And now having already consulted with
your grandfather and older brother, winning their consent and approval,
I consider the matter settled.
"A few of my jewels, dear to me as mementoes of the past, I shall
retain; also a few others which would not sell for nearly what they are
really worth to us; but the rest I intend to have sold and the money
used for the spread of the gospel in our own and heathen lands."
"I am convinced you could not make a better investment, mamma," Harold
said, his eyes shining with pleasure.
"Yes, you are right," she returned, "it is an investment; one that can
not possibly fail to give a grand return: for does He not say, 'He that
hath pity upon the poor lendeth to the Lord; and that which he hath
given will he pay him again?'
"Who was it (Dean Swift if I remember aright) who preached a charity
sermon from that text--'If you like the security, down with the dust'?"
"And you do like the security, mamma; you prefer it to any other, I am
quite sure," said Herbert. "But what a fine specimen of a charity sermon
that was! both powerful and brief. Doubtless many of the hearers were
greatly relieved that they had not to listen to a long, dull harangue on
the subject, and all the more disposed to give liberally on that
account."
"Yes; do not forget to act upon that idea, when your turn comes to
preach a sermon on that subject," Harold said, giving his younger
brother a mischievous smile.
"And let us not forget the lesson of the text when the appeal comes to
us," added their mother. "Oh my dear boys, what a privilege it is to be
permitted to make such investments! and to be sowers of the good seed
whether by personal effort or in providing the means for sending out
others as laborers. Let us endeavor to be of the number of those who sow
largely in both ways; for 'He which soweth sparingly shall reap also
sparingly; and he that soweth bountifully shall reap also bountifully.'
"And the harvest is sure; at the end of the world; if not sooner. And
whether we give in one way or the other, let us not do it 'grudgingly or
of necessity,' but joyfully and with all our hearts, for God loveth a
cheerful giver."
"Mamma," said Harold earnestly, "we do both feel it a great and blessed
privilege to be permitted to be co-workers with God for the advancement
of his cause and kingdom."
With that the conversation turned upon other themes, but presently the
boys kissed the dear mother good night and withdrew lest they should rob
her of needed rest.